


Airtight

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Breathplay, Denial, Don't Try This At Home, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11271837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: “Sorry to say it, but if you want to make me beg for mercy, it'll take more than that.”“Oh? What will it take then?”“More than you can give.”“Is that right?”“Yeah. But I suppose I can let you try.”





	Airtight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the asoiaf kink meme prompt: "Jon/Theon, breathplay, Theon loves it when he can't quite breathe."

“If you're trying to drown yourself Greyjoy, you're better off at the far end of the pools.”

Theon frowns, not sure who that was or if he heard them properly, but he's woozy and his head is spinning, so finally he breaks the water and rises up above the surface with a gasp, air rushing into his lungs, his heart racing against his chest. He turns his head and sees Snow, staring at him with that same sullen pout as always, cloak discarded and his shirt half-unlaced. “Piss off,” says Theon, which he acknowledges isn't really up to his usual standard, but he's not quite thinking straight. “What are you doing here anyway? Didn't Lady Catelyn want you to stay away today, lest you drown any of her precious babes?”

Jon's pout turns in on itself, transforming into the one he wears when he's actually upset, not just the one his face is naturally, and it's almost enough to make Theon feel guilty. Almost. It's not like Jon was explicitly forbidden from the pools today, but when Lady Catelyn declared over breakfast that she thought it was high time she taught her children how to swim properly, like she did in the Riverlands, the invitation did not extend to him. Theon himself only tagged along in the hopes of getting to see her naked, a plan that held together until she actually wanted him to _help_ her teach her bloody whelps, and Theon decided the sight of her body wasn't worth the trouble he'd be in if any of them noticed the effect her body was having on his. So as soon as he could he swam off to a quiet hidden corner where they couldn't find him, where he could relax and have a private wank if he so pleased.

“Arya talked me into it,” says Jon. “She said when she could she'd sneak away and come swim with me instead.”

Theon snorts. Yeah, that sounds like Arya, never doing what she's told. Robb also would probably want to make Jon feel better, but he'd be too careful keeping an eye on the little ones to sneak away, and he'll probably lose his mind when he realises one of them's missing. The thought makes Theon laugh.

“Right, well now I know why you're here, would you mind not being? You interrupted me.”

“What, in the middle of wasting away at the bottom of the water?” says Jon, his frown deepening. “I'm serious Theon, you were down there for ages. I was starting to worry.”

_What, is he trying to be nice now?_ That thought is strange and uncomfortable to Theon and he does his best to ignore it. “Aww, how sweet of you, my lady,” he smirks and Snow rolls his eyes. “But just because you can't dip your toe in the water without gasping doesn't mean there's any need to fret. I'm fine.”

“Just be careful, you bloody prick, alright? I don't want to put up with Robb moping.” Which really, coming from him. “Nobody's even here, you're not proving anything.”

“You don't understand, do you Snow?” says Theon, chuckling to himself. “Nah, you couldn't, poor little abandoned bastard, no roots, no home.” Snow is now grinding his teeth and pressing his knuckles against his knee, but Theon ignores that. “It's the call of the sea, and every Ironborn can hear it from the day he's born.”

“We're nowhere near the sea, Greyjoy.”

“That's not the point,” he says. “The point is, the water is part of my blood, that's why I can stay down there so long. No ironborn fears drowning. I sit there, and I hold my breath, and I can feel my lungs drying out and my head throbbing and my body almost ready to burst, but–”

“Greyjoy, I'm sorry if you've mistaken me for one of your whores, I'm sorry, but I have no interest in hearing about the weird shit you get off on.”

“Fuck off Snow, it's not like that,” says Theon, even as he's half-hard beneath the water – but that's not his fault, that was Lady Catelyn, and really no woman should have teats like that after suckling five babes. Theon smirks and pulls himself over to Jon's side, pushing himself up at the bank of the pool. “Still, I shouldn't be surprised. It's your bastard blood, isn't it? Poor Snow, trying so hard to be honourable, but still, your dirty little mind can't imagine anything except perversion.”

Jon snorts. “Oh, like you can talk,” he says. “Really Greyjoy, if you want to be suffocated that bad, I'm sure you'll find plenty of volunteers.”

A smirk quirks Theon's mouth. “Like you, you mean?” he laughs in Snow's face, and ignores the twitch of his cock beneath the water. “Don't reckon you could. Such pretty little maiden's hands, probably couldn't squeeze hard enough to–”

And Theon's words are cut off as the air is squeezed out of him, he's left gawping like a dead fish as Snow's hand is around his throat, _around_ _his throat_ , and squeezing tighter, tighter, so _tight_ ; gods for all he makes fun of the bastard for looking like a maid he's bloody strong, Theon can feel the blood rushing from his face and to his cock, he's so _hard_ and he can't breathe, he can't bloody breathe and it feels fantastic, he's losing his strength and his grip on the bank so it's just Jon's hand keeping him up now and he can't fucking think, he's never felt more helpless and he loves it–

“Shit.”

Suddenly Jon's hand is gone and Theon barely digs his fingers into dirt quick enough to stop himself dropping to the bottom of the pool like a bag of potatoes. He coughs and splutters like a drowned rat, and Snow just sits there looking stunned. “Shit, Theon, sorry, I didn't mean to – I was just trying to prove a point, I didn't want to – are you alright?!”

Theon manages to overcome the worst of his hacking in time to respond. “Fine,” he grunts, and then wheezes a few more times, slowly regaining sensation in his fingers and toes. Then, his pride being what it is (not that he's trying to bait the bastard or anything), he smirks. “I'm just dandy. What, you call that a choking? Come on. I've worn necklaces that squeezed tighter than that.”

Snow's expression immediately shifts from concerned to annoyed. “Really,” he says dryly, and raises an eyebrow. “Greyjoy, I almost choked the life out of you. You were bright red.”

“Just embarrassed for you, that's all,” Theon grins, and he's almost ready to pull himself out of the water to continue this argument on solid ground, but then he remembers how hard he is. Best not letting that on to Snow, else he'll never forget it. But still, that's normal right, that happens to men when they get choked. Nothing to worry about. “Sorry to say it, but if you want to make me beg for mercy, it'll take more than that.”

That's an odd way to phrase it, Theon knows that, but Snow doesn't seem to mind. He smirks and leans in closer. “Oh?” he asks, voice dropping to a deep low whisper, low enough Theon shivers, and then he curses his body for doing that to him. The water must be cooling down. “What will it take then?”

Theon smirks in return. “More than you can give.”

“Is that right?”

They're both leaning in close, too close if he's honest, but Theon's been challenged and he can't back down now. “Yeah,” he says, and then the words start to fall out without him telling them to: “but I suppose I can let you try.”

Snow blinks in surprise and pauses, and something like dread blooms in Theon's stomach, like he's afraid Snow will think he means something by this and he'll be disgusted, but that's stupid because Theon doesn't mean anything by this and besides, it's only Snow, who gives a shit what he thinks anyway? Then, Snow nods. “Get out of there,” he says. “I don't want you drowning while I'm trying to choke you.”

Theon does as he's told, but not because he's been told, but because Snow's right, they're better off not doing this where he could fall to the bottom of the water and die because of it. What would Lady Catelyn say? Theon lies down on the cool earth soaking wet, dirt getting in his hair and turning into mud and he'll give Snow hell for that later, but at the moment he's busy.

He's also still fucking hard and he knows Snow has noticed, he particularly knows it when Snow starts just blatantly staring, not a drop of shame in him, and Theon knows his length is impressive but still. That feeling like dread returns, like Snow is about to say something, something cruel and humiliating that will put Theon in his place forevermore, so Theon decides to get in early before he can.

“What, haven't you seen one before, my lady?”

Snow scowls and his hand wraps around Theon's throat. “Shut up, Greyjoy.” But he doesn't squeeze, not yet, and after a couple of seconds his demeanour softens. “Are you ready?”

Theon snorts. “What, for your puny grip? How could I not be?”

_Then_ Snow squeezes, and Theon gasps again as his air's cut off, he desperately tries to suck enough into his lungs and he fails as Snow does not look up, his eyes as cold and strong as stone above him. He doesn't even look angry, that's the thing, just mildly exasperated at having to put Theon in his place like this, and his grip is absolutely relentless, he doesn't have a maiden's hand really he has good square solid hands like his father, everything about Snow is like his father, hard as slate and Theon is scratching and clawing at the dirt, writhing like a two-penny whore and he can hardly feel his own body but it feels good–

The bastard lets go, and Theon whines through his pathetic gasps for breath. _No, no, don't stop._ His head is spinning. “Are you alright?” asks Jon, brow knotted together in concern.

“Dandy,” spits Theon, and he can feel the skin of his neck hot with Snow's touch, he'll be bruised tomorrow and the thought makes his prick jerk painfully. “Come now bastard, don't go craven on me,” he says and he can see Snow's jaw twitch. “Choke me like you want to. Choke me like you hate me.”

And Snow does, his hand closing even tighter around Theon's throat this time and Theon moans like a whore as he does it, but he can't even bring himself to be ashamed about that because there's not enough blood reaching his head to worry about it, there's only the desperate need for air and Snow's ruthless denial of it above him, and he's grasping so tight now that Theon's vision starts to blur until he's being squeezed by two Snows, then four, then eight, a whole fucking army of them pressing down on Theon only harder and rougher, and now they're speaking:

“You do get off on it. Look at you Greyjoy, you're so hard, I haven't even touched you. I could choke you right to death and you wouldn't stop me, you'd be moaning all the way there. You love this, don't you, feeling so helpless? Knowing the bastard of Winterfell could squeeze the life out of the little Ironborn prince–”

And Theon can't help himself, he tries to moan but there's not enough breath left in his lungs; he's going to pass out, he's going to _come_ –

“Jon?”

Snow's hand flies away and he jumps a mile as he gets to his feet, looking over his shoulder in a state of utter panic. “Arya!” he cries out and sure enough, Theon can see her, looking back between Snow – flushed and red and definitely hard in his breeches – and Theon's own prone, wet, naked and just as hard body. She frowns in confusion.

“If you're murdering Greyjoy, can I help you hide the body?”

Theon makes an indignant noise and, for a second forgetting all about whatever the hell it was they were doing she interrupted, turns to glare at her. “Thanks for the support, Underfoot,” he says, and she just shrugs at him.

“I swear it's not like that,” says Jon, blushing like a maiden. “We were... playing.”

“Playing,” repeats Arya, her eyes drifting over to Theon naked and helpless on the ground, and he knows it's too much to ask for her not to notice how hard he is but hopefully, she's too young to know what it means, but even at her age it doesn't sound like she buys it.

Snow blushes deeper. “Yeah, I... might have gotten carried away.”

Arya thinks this over for a moment, and shrugs. “Alright. But Mother's going to notice I'm gone soon, so if we want to play, we better be quick.”

Jon nods at her. “In a second,” he says, and Arya grins before darting off into the bushes. Then, swallowing a lump in his throat that seems just as big as the lump in his breeches, Snow turns to look at Theon. “Theon, I – should we–”

“Piss off, Snow.”

Jon blinks at that, and makes an offended noise, but then he just sighs as if to say _alright then_ before running off to join Arya on one of her little girl – or little boy more like – games, although he might have to dive into one of the cold pools to deal with his prick first.

Theon resolves not to think about him, or what they just did, or what he said. Snow's right, they got carried away. It was stupid.

Still, he doesn't move either, and as he doesn't think he finds one hand drifting up to his neck, tracing over the hot red marks the bastard left.

And the other hand drifting down to his cock.

 


End file.
